Date of Death
by My5tic-Lali
Summary: They are given two numbers at the Institution. The first acts as their name—because, as they are so frequently reminded, names are gifts of affection from someone who loves you, and no one loves you—and the second is the date of their death. (AU from ep. 8 on)(T for non-graphic character death)


AU from episode 8 on

-SPOILERS THROUGH EPISODE 8-

* * *

 _Nine thinks that it would be impossible to forget that glass sculpture the Teachers had brought to class for a week while they studied "object permanence," regardless of the fact that he no longer remembers how many years have passed since then. He remembers the class very distinctly—on the first day, the kids around him had oohed and aahed over an elegant glass-blown figurine which stood on the Teacher's desk. Each of them were allowed to handle the delicate figure once, and after that first day, the sculpture sat on the edge of the desk every day, gathering admiring looks. Nine remembers how the light had fallen through the curling lines of the sculpture, neither fragile nor rigid. The Teacher had explained the intricacies of glass-blowing (Nine had no idea why, at the time) and the hours which had been poured into sculpting it._

 _But at the beginning of the last day of that class, the Teacher grabbed the beautiful, expensive sculpture and without even the slightest forewarning, smashed it straight on the ground in the midst of the desks. There had been one moment of stunned silence (he remembers one girl—she was Fourteen, if his memory has not failed him—gave a little cry of dismay. Fourteen had failed two weeks later.) and then the Teacher looked up, straight at Nine, and stated, "Object permanence can be deceiving."_

* * *

They are given two numbers at the Institution.

The first acts as their name—because, as they are so frequently reminded, names are gifts of affection from someone who loves you, and _no one loves you_ —and the second is the date of their death.

At first, Nine had wondered, in panic-stricken nights, if the Teachers were psychic and could actually see the exact date each of them would die, and decided to hang it over their heads like some inevitable punishment for all of their failures. In his more sane moments, he mulled that the date was probably just a hoax, something to hold over the kids and control them as the fear the Teachers so enjoyed to wield, just something to give them nightmares and a fear of their captors. He ignores the memory of that day two weeks before his and Twelve's escape, when one of the other kids had just dropped dead out of nowhere, and the Teachers had shown a panic-stricken class the date inked on his left shoulder—March 15, 2003,—which happened to be the exact date of the other kid's death.

Now that he's out, he figures that the Institution probably just assigned them a random date and ensured that poison was slipped into their drink at breakfast or an unexpected accident occurred at just the right moment. It wouldn't have been hard, not in their over-controlled environment, not with the access they had to their food and clothing and sleeping arrangements—Nine, in hindsight, can think of fifty-six different ways that they could've killed him or Twelve or Five at any point in their stay.

Nine is now reasonably sure that the dates are nothing more than hoaxes, frauds designed to terrify the minds of the children they leeched from, and he and Twelve are safe from them now that they're off the grid. It doesn't stop the barely-suppressed shivers from tingling down his spine every time he catches sight of the tattoo on his left shoulder, a stark reminder of the past he can never escape.

He's sure that Twelve feels it too: the deep cold fear which, despite its irrationality and improbability, haunts his bones and lurks in the back of his mind every time he looks at the calendar.

Nine's date of death is imprinted indelibly both on his body and on his brain—he's sure that even if he did pay to have the tattoo surgically removed, which he has considered, the date would haunt him until his dying day, whether that be on the day prescribed, or after, or before.

Even though he dismisses it during the day and in his every thought, there is almost a strange comfort from the second number. He knows that it is completely irrational, the number is most likely completely false, but sometimes he holds the date close like a promise, an assurance that he can't die, not yet, it's not his DoD yet—which is completely idiotic and has no relevance, (Nine knows that he can still die even if his DoD hasn't arrived yet, knows this as a _fact_ , one of the ones he lists as an absolute and not a probability) but it gives him the tiniest amount of reassurance nonetheless. He has the time to finish the job, at the least. He has it all planned out. At the rate they've had to speed up the plan, Nine almost thinks he might actually have some extra time, probably spent in a detention cell, but time nonetheless. It'll all work out fine.

Nine and Twelve have an unspoken agreement not to talk about it, and that has lasted eight years. Nine finds no reason to believe that that will change. Or he didn't, until it comes up in the most brutal way and with the most unexpected, sudden circumstances.

* * *

Lisa is captured—it's her fault, Nine deduces unfeelingly, they never should have let her get involved in the first place, Twelve _never_ should have gotten attached—and Twelve, of course, wants to go save her. But Five is involved. _Five_. The name alone should send Twelve running for the hills, but _no,_ he has to be stubborn and cling to the false hope that he can outwit her trap and save Lisa. Nine knows, and he knows that Twelve knows, that that is never going to happen.

But Twelve goes anyway. Not before bringing up the taboo, the one line they have never breached, the one topic even more forbidden than the Institution itself: The DoD.

" ** _I_** don't have much time left."

It hits Nine like a punch to the gut. He had never asked, never intruded on Twelve's privacy like that. The most he knows is one part of the date—25—because of one bad night years ago when Twelve had come back to the safehouse with his shirt ripped and skinned elbows, having been in an accident while on his stupid bike, with a minor concussion and fracture to the right wrist to accompany him home. Nine had seen the tattoo, however briefly, but had stopped himself and his curiosity before he had read further. It had almost flown his mind, the fact that Twelve had his own deadline.

Immediately, his mind analyzes Twelve's behavior the past weeks, searching for unexplained strange actions, anomalies in his character which Nine might have just attributed to stress or excitement, and comes up blank. Twelve has been totally normal, or at least as normal as he gets. Or, could some of his strange attachment to Lisa been the result of his impending DoD? Nine's mind starts to spin in overdrive, over-analyzing every behavior of Twelve's through the past months, but is drawn up short by the twitch of guilt. He's standing there, clinically dissecting his partner's behavior when the only other person Nine has allowed himself to look out for is being held captive by Five? When Twelve is about to go and do something stupid and reckless to get her back?

"Please don't go." They are the only words he can think of, the only words that his lips form as the situation and new information truly sink into his bones. _Twelve's DoD is looming and Lisa is captured and Five has her and Five is planning something and she will ruin all of our careful planning and Twelve is going to die_. The words are out there before his rational side kicks in, reminding him that the second number is just a hoax, just because Twelve's date is drawing near does not have any effect on when his partner is going to die, but it's too late—

Twelve is gone.

Nine is left with two words he does not want to acknowledge, two words hanging on the edge of his tongue like weights he cannot lift.

 _How long?_

 _How long, Twelve? How long before it is too late?_ _Is it today? Tomorrow?_

* * *

He's not sure how they did it, but he and Twelve outwitted Five.

That fact alone stuns him for a good two hours.

And not only that, all three of them made it out alive, with only minor injuries to boast of.

That is the cause for a further hour of shock.

Lisa collapses straightaway once they get back to the safehouse, wrists red and swollen from her restraints but otherwise okay, and Nine tries to deny the fondness he has started to sense deep in his chest. He watches Twelve gently put a blanket over the sleeping girl, a softness to his eyes that rarely ever shows, ignoring the long line of red across his arm from a lucky knife swipe.

Twelve finally acknowledges Nine, finally talks to him for the first time since his surprise at Nine's arrival to help, as he's putting a bandage on his wound.

"Thank you." Even though Nine knows the reason for the gratitude, Twelve clarifies. "For helping me save her."

"I'm not stupid enough to let you get yourself killed like that." Nine knows what he really wants to say, but the words don't want to form, and settles for the less confrontational reply.

There's a dry sort of chuckle from across the room, and Nine finally looks over. Twelve's eyes have a strange light in them—not the eager one, or the slightly manic, unhinged look which shows occasionally—this is more of a horrified resignation mixed with terrible sort of fondness. He has stopped wrapping the knife wound, and has his eyes fixed on a point somewhere above the game console across from where he crouches. Normally, this wouldn't be a cause for alarm. Twelve is just as haunted as Nine is by the Institution, though it rarely manifests in night terrors, and though he seems to abhor silence, sometimes can trail off in the middle of a conversation, eyes on nothing and yet seeming to perceive everything at once—Nine thinks it might be something to do with his synthesia?

But there's something different about Twelve's look this time, some strange emotion which sends alarm bells ringing in Nine's head and for a moment he's not sure why. The posture is off too; Twelve has terrible posture except when he wants to, but this is even worse than usual—he is completely hollowed out and he must to be uncomfortable against the hard arcade game he's leaning against, but the way his shoulders and back just curl in like he's afraid of the world is what warns Nine that something is off.

"Twelve?" Nine curses himself the moment the word is out in the air. Usually, he is so tight-lipped that Twelve has to pry any response from him with force, but that is the second time this night that his mouth has decided to betray him and his thoughts have been so weak. But Twelve is truly worrying him now, and Nine subdues the part of him that wants to file Twelve's actions away in the corner of his mind he reserves for the other boy's oddities and move on, because this is somehow different than the usual conundrums, this is somehow worse and even more out of the ordinary, and Nine feels like if he lets the matter drop it will only become worse because _Twelve mentioned the taboo this is bad this is bad_.

Twelve doesn't even blink. His eyes remain fixed upon the point in the spider web-ridden wall, unmoving, barely even breathing, and for one second, Nine remembers with the crystal clarity of a heartbeat: the glass sculpture. _"Object permanence can be deceiving."_

"Twelve?" He repeats the query with no hesitation this time, because the two words he left unsaid when Twelve had gone to save Lisa are burning inside of him like beasts and he has to get them out, has to ask his partner, has to broach the forbidden subject, because everything inside of him trembles at the thought that tomorrow is the 25th— _what if tomorrow is the DoD_ —and although he would never admit it, losing Twelve would be worse than losing a limb, would be worse than losing an anchor in the midst of a gale.

The brunet hears him this time, and starts from his daze. The eyes he turns to Nine are slightly unfocused, but Nine sees the hopelessness inside of them, a black void of inevitability that has consumed him from the inside out, and for one moment, Nine freezes, because Twelve never lets his façade drop— _never_. Twelve holds his mask with the white-knuckled grip of the terrified, and Nine knows he does too, but Twelve's is somehow more deceiving than anything Nine could ever come up with. Twelve's mask is half-smiles and trickster smirks and slight insanity, and although his genuine deviousness and grins do make it through, they are mere glimmers of the truth of his self, and that is the only self-defense against a world which has stripped him bare one too many times. Twelve's almost-infallible mask fools everyone he meets with a disarming smile and an incessant cheerfulness which has never alluded to the true person beneath the false front, has never ever faltered and revealed the scars beneath.

But now that mask is gone, that façade has finally slipped, the illusion is revealed for the first time in eight years, and the true depth of the pain in Twelve's eyes draws Nine up short, cuts him to the core. In that half-second of Twelve's true self, Nine can see the Institution, the tests, the pain, the blankness, the hopelessness which had permeated their entire life until they had managed to find one blessed way out of that place. Nine can see the harsh bluntness of the resolve they share, to finally make the world see what is happening under their very nose, he can see the scars that the years have left behind on his partner's soul, and Nine feels his chest constrict, every molecule suddenly terrified of mortality, suddenly fearful of objet permanence and the way glass shards had littered the floor of the classroom, irreparable.

Before he can say anything more, the mask is back. Twelve has smothered the age in his eyes, covered the past showing in his face in the blink of an eye, and the gaze he turns to Nine has nothing but innocent curiosity and the inherent honesty which is the trademark of Twelve's mask, so deceiving that Nine cannot tell the falsehood from the truth. "Hm?"

The words he wants to say are lodged in his throat now. _How long how long how long how long_ thrums through his veins, repeats endlessly in his head, but the words are somehow both dying to get out into the air and determined to never make it past his lips, and he chokes on them for a moment before turning back to the phone he had been prepping for the next part of their plan.

"I am glad that Lisa is okay." An alternate response rises after a second, even though it is nothing like what he wants to say. "And that we were able to outsmart Five."

Twelve laughs shortly, "There were no exploding planes this time, either. At least we know how she operates now."

Nine nods his head noncommittally, and goes back to the phone.

He swallows the question, shoving it deep down inside him, beneath layers of logic and reason and determination and locks the box, reminding himself of all the proofs he has concocted to disprove the DoD.

 _Twelve is not going to die._

* * *

Nine ignores that night as the weeks pass and the plan proceeds.

There have been several times where they have enlisted Lisa's aid for some of the more mundane tasks, and she has seemed relieved to help, eager to please and make it up to them for essentially taking her under their wing. Twelve continues to goof off and take stupid risks, laughing all the while, mask still intact as though it had never slipped. Nine can find no overly-odd behavior, no signs of an impending DoD, and deludes himself into believing that Twelve _wasn't_ talking about the second number that night, was referring to something completely unrelated, convinces himself that nothing that had happened related to the taboo, and moves on.

The plan continues beautifully, following the schedule to the dot, sending the people into fits and hysterics, leading the police on a merry chase. No one is injured in the explosions they plan.

Strangely enough, there is no further sign of Five.

Nine knows she's still in Tokyo, has managed to confirm that the Americans are still lurking around the edges of the police force, but she takes no action. He discusses it with Twelve one night, after Lisa has gone to sleep, but they decide that there is nothing they can do. They'll just have to roll with whatever she comes up with, when she decides to intervene again—he knows she will, and when she does, she'll find something to turn it in her advantage, but until then, he double- and triple-checks every part of the proceedings, keeps an even lower profile than before, keeps his eyes peeled for _anything_ out of order.

Nothing happens for a month.

* * *

Lisa stays at the safehouse while Twelve plants the next bomb, and Nine monitors the police, watching them scramble to figure out the riddle.

He notices, belatedly, that the main detective, the smart one—Shibazaki—is nowhere to be found. For a moment, he freezes, then realizes that the tabs he had kept on the Americans and Five were gone as well.

"Twelve, Five is making her move. Take alternate route 3 back." Nine instructs into his headphone, distantly registering the whine of Twelve's motorcycle as he searches his laptop for interference, hoping he won't find a leak, a break in the firewall.

" _Got it._ " Is Twelve's short reply, leaving Nine to figure out what Five is planning, running program after program to find her and whatever she has planted, mind spinning through move after move in the imaginary chess game he has constructed.

But there is no need.

With a crackle of interference, she strides straight into Nine and Twelve's secure line, waltzes straight past the firewalls Nine has developed, and plops herself down opposite Nine in the chess game.

 _"_ _Ready, Nine?"_

Her musical tone, full of sincerity and provocation, slides through the slight fuzziness of the headphones and chills Nine to the core. For one second, he stills, then flies into movement again, not deigning to respond, fingers zooming across the keyboard to trace her signal, keep track of her movements, and Twelve's.

Five doesn't seem to expect a reply, and he can hear the smile in her voice when she continues. _"I'm not quite as adept as you with riddles, I'm afraid_." Nine grits his teeth, and waits impatiently for the trace to finish.

 _"_ _But I have grown quite fond of these nursery rhymes from the Americans_ …" There is a slight pause, and he can hear Twelve's motorcycle whirring, knowing where Twelve will be heading, knowing the route he will be on. _"Maybe you'll find them amusing, too."_

Nine ignores her, and murmurs to his partner, "Alternate route 7." He knows Five will be recording this conversation, probably has her FBI buddies and some of the Tokyo police with her as they speak, listening to every word, but they won't know where Twelve is going next.

Twelve doesn't respond, but Nine knows he hears and follows the proposed path, as the little red dot which is the representation of Twelve on the map on Nine's computer screen turns. And then Five begins to sing, lilting voice coming clear over the mike, tone gleeful and full of hidden triumph.

 _"_ _The itsy-bitsy spider went up the water spout…"_

Nine watches as Twelve continues along the route, clenching his jaw tighter as he tries to figure out how to find Five.

* * *

Shibazaki doesn't like the girl they introduce to him as "Five." Her fluffy white hair and purple eyes send alarm bells ringing in his head from the start, but it's once he's in the truck with her, the blonde American glued to her side, and two of his own officers when he realizes just what he doesn't like. Just why he doesn't trust her.

He'd been against accepting the FBI's help all along, but apparently "Five" had information which would help her find Sphinx, and he grudgingly allows himself to be pulled along to her crazy plot, being the detective best-acquainted with the Sphinx case. Five is a computer genius, that much he admits freely, but he is still vaguely surprised when she manages to tap into Sphinx #1's—she calls him "Nine"—secure line, and begin to track his partner, #2—who is "Twelve"?—as the other puts another piece of their mysterious plan in motion.

He and the others sit in quiet amazement as Five coaxes her way into Sphinx #1's computer, and they spend a while listening to static. Evidently, the two have no need of contact just yet.

After a while, a couple clipped words make it over the line, and he realizes that the terrorists have discovered Five's movements. _"Twelve, Five is making her move. Take alternate route 3 back."_ A different voice, then, slightly younger. " _Got it."_

And here is where Shibazaki finds the source of his disapproval. It's in her casual, almost-flippant "Ready, Nine?", it's in the eager, almost feral grin she allows to turn her lips as she speaks, in the slight madness he can see in her startlingly purple eyes.

Shibazaki denies the shiver making its way up his spine. He wants Sphinx off the streets, but this girl… she looks unhinged. Her only goal is to destroy this Nine and Twelve. Why, he hasn't figured out. And though her mind is impressively fast and her hacking second to none, the detective can't shake his gut instinct. Five sets alarm bells ringing in his head, and nothing stops it. If anything, the more time he spends with her, the louder they ring.

"I'm not quite as adept as you with riddles, I'm afraid," Five continues taunting, her smile wide and eager. "But I have grown quite fond of these nursery rhymes from the Americans…" There's no sound from the other side of the line, except what might be the hum of a motorcycle. Shibazaki's pulse is racing, though he can't grasp why. This feels like a trap. The FBI had agreed on their goals—the priority was containment; finding and stopping Sphinx before more bombs went off. But something tells him that those "agreements" were nothing but fluff. Five seems to be making her own endgame, if the look in her eyes is anything to go off of. "Maybe you'll find them amusing, too."

But there's no reply from the other side of the line, except a murmured " _Alternate route 7."_ Shibazaki recognizes it as Sphinx #1's—Nine, he corrects himself—voice. And as he says so, the other monitor Five is using (Shibazaki hadn't been sure what it was for) flashes. Her fingers stop moving on the keyboard, and a map appears. A red dot is just turning onto a street… Shibazaki almost recognizes the place, but can't quite place it. This area of Japan is less known to him than anywhere else. What was the dot? It had turned as Nine spoke. Was Five tracking Sphinx?

Then Five begins to sing, her voice sickly sweet and satisfied. " _The itsy-bitsy spider went up the water spout…"_

Shibazaki recognizes the song, somehow. It's American. He doesn't know what the girl is doing, but he has been expressly forbidden to interfere. He's just there to observe. This is the FBI's show, he knows—his presence just allows them to slap the label of "co-operative mission" on the whole affair. But he is seriously starting to regret agreeing to this. Every gut instinct he has is saying that this isn't going to end well.

Just before the next line, Five covers the microphone and snaps in English at the driver to go forward. They're in a mobile unit, a van. Shibazaki wasn't informed why they had to drive into this back alley end of town for Five to hack into Sphinx's computer. And it doesn't look like anyone's going to tell him why they're suddenly moving. The blond American with Five furrows his brows a little more, but says nothing. The engine starts as Five starts singing again. " _Down came the rain and_ washed _the spider out,_ " Shibazaki notices the relish she places on the word "washed." It makes him even more nervous.

" _Then came the sun and dried up all the rain,_ " He finds himself transfixed by the red dot zooming around the map on the monitor. Something about the tangle of roads looks familiar. He can't place it. But this and the still-faint whirring coming from Sphinx's line makes the connection—one of them, probably Twelve, Shibazaki thinks—Five is tracking one of them, and they're going by motorcycle, or bike, or something similar and small. The twisty route the dot takes… It's like Twelve knows he's being watched. Maybe this was the "alternate route" Nine had ordered. Shaking his head, Shibazaki finds himself amazed once again at a loss about the teenagers. They were intelligent enough to have backup plans and backup routes to different safehouses. Then backup routes for their backup routes. Their planning strikes him dumb.

He is seconds away from recognizing the map. The street Twelve just passed… hadn't they drove down there on their way here? Had Five made them park near Sphinx's safehouse? If so, then why are they moving now?

Five's smile widens, horribly, almost insanely, as she sings, and Shibazaki, though unfamiliar with the rhyme, notices it's not the right line. " _And the itsy-bitsy spider was caught in the mouse's trap._ "

On the last word, Shibazaki hears the squeal of brakes as the van pitches forward, and a sickening crunching noise as they hit something.

* * *

" _Down came the rain and_ washed _the spider out,_ " Five sings, a certain joy in her voice on the last phrase. The trace is almost done—he'll have her location soon. Nine's fingers shake ever-so-slightly over the keyboard. Something is wrong. This is wrong. Nine doesn't have a backup plan for this—he always has a backup plan. But Five is unpredictable enough that he can't always fit her in; every situation he concocts around her has to be reworked again and again because he can never be sure how she'll react. If it's a bad day, she's liable to ignore the respect and rules of chess and cut corners and play dirty. If she's dealing with headaches like he does most nights, she'll stop the taunts but not the plan itself.

" _Then came the sun and dried up all the rain,_ " The rhythm of the song doesn't ease his nerves, and her voice only makes his stomach tighter. Twelve doesn't say anything, but Nine knows he wants to, and there's a slight increase in noise from the other end of the line as he speeds up. He is just as unsettled as Nine is about this.

The trace is taking too long. Nine has a creeping suspicion that Five is purposefully blocking him. She won't be able to hold him off forever, but it's insanely frustrating. She is only hiding it for some big reveal… Nine finds himself anxious to be moving. He wants to get out of the arcade. What if she's found the safehouse? If she's just outside, and he doesn't see where she is until she has police in position to storm the place… He thinks of Lisa suddenly, asleep. She'd almost made them a good dinner that night, before Twelve had left. Twelve had managed to get her to laugh, for almost the first time since Nine had met her.

Five's next, rewritten line freezes Nine's very bones, and the trace is finally established.

" _And the itsy-bitsy spider was caught in the mouse's trap."_ The green dot of Five's location blinked into existence, already in movement—on the map where Twelve was speeding down. As her last word makes it through the line, her dot collides with Twelve's.

There's a crash and a very human scream from the other side of the line, and Nine's heart stops.

"Twelve?!"

There's no answer, just Five giggling. There's an outburst of shouts from her end, and the line cuts off, her voice still mid-laugh.

The laugh echoes into his soul. "Twelve!" Nine shouts at his computer, the red and green dots still blinking mockingly up at him, and finds himself on his feet. " _Twelve!"_

But the dots don't hold his attention—for some reason, the clock in the bottom corner of the screen does.

And as he reads it, Nine finds his body suddenly boneless, his mind ringing like he's been struck:

 **12:01, September 25** **th,** **2014**

Nine bites back a sob, and his hand goes to the shoulder with the Date of Death and squeezes, and the cold cement under him seeps ice into his heart.

Inexplicably, the Teacher's voice whispers in his mind, and the picture of the glass figurine shattered on the floor comes with it.

 _Object permanence can be deceiving._

 _~fin~_

 _..._

* * *

 **A/N:** This was an idea that hit me at the end of episode eight and would not let me go. I don't know why, but it stuck with me and though it's been over for a couple years now, I recently got around to finishing it. But because I wrote it over such a long period of time with long breaks in between, there's a good chance that there's dissimilarity between sections, and it might not flow well. If it doesn't work, please let me know because I've re-read it too many times to grasp any of it.

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So I don't intend to continue this, but I suppose if I did, I imagine Shibazaki would rush out and try to call medics but... yeah there's nothing happy to be found after this. Just. Sadness.

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Thank you for reading!


End file.
